Almost three months ago, Brittany Ferries’ Cap Finistère had dropped us off in Bilbao harbour for the beginning of our escape from another desperate British Xmas and whatever the British winter might hold. If I said we’d had grey skies in Spain totalling about two weeks worth, I might be exaggerating. For the rest of the time we’ve enjoyed clear skies. Since our return ferry is an evening departure on Saturday, it would be possible to do it in one hit but it’s nice to take the opportunity to investigate a little more of Spain en route. So now it’s time to start our journey back.

Francine has always wanted to see Teruel and, what is more, it has a Parador and she’s owes me a couple of Paradores. For one reason and another we left booking late so we’re paying full whack. What’s more, we’ve pushed the boat out on a premium room, which should be fun.

We battened down the hatches in Casa Libélule and made a leisurely departure at about 09:00 designed to miss the worst of the Valencian traffic, then dove off piste to make our way across country towards Teruel.

Francine had spotted a couple of curiosities in Spanish tourism book. There are two oddly named villages which, I would think, give rise a good deal of confusion. Whether or not local rivalries are also created, I know not. The villages are:

1. Rubieles de Mora;
2. Mora de Rubieles.

If that ain’t confusing, I don’t know what is.

You may have noticed that the world is full of bridges associated with the Devil. Most of ours have been in France so were called Pont del Diable. On our way to Rubieles de Mora [I think] we came across a Spanish one, the Puente del Diabolo or Puente de Fonseca. Naturally, the devilish name holds more fascination. We spent some time stretching our legs here before continuing to our first village.

We found a good parking spot in Rubieles de Mora [I think] and began wandering around the old town on foot. As we were passing the church an old gentleman approached us and led off in complex Spanish of which we followed little. We gathered that he thought we spoke more Spanish than we did and that he wanted us to fork out 2€ each to visit the church and its tower of which he was justly proud. We did so and clambered up the very dark spiral staircase to the belfry for views across the rooftops of Rubieles de Mora [I think].

Somehow we got down the dark staircase safely and continued our walk without broken legs, eventually stumbling across a particularly rustic old village bull ring. I abhor the concept of Spanish bull fighting but this old village ring was a bit of a curiosity.

Our worms were now biting and, the Teruel area being known for its jamon, we found a sunny local bar to sit and partake of some, along with a helping of tortilla de patates, all washed down by a beer or two.

The second village, Mora de Rubieles [I think], proved to be quite dull after our first stop and, other than its name, didn’t seem particularly noteworthy. We had a quick peek but then decided it was time to go and find our Parador at Teruel.

I’m a fan of Paradores, not only because they are decent quality hotels but also because they have restaurants generally serving food with a local slant. We’ve stayed in a number of other Spanish hotels and found ourselves struggling to find somewhere to eat. This may have been in part due to the Spanish habit of eating late. Our ineptitude may also be a contributing factor. We found one restaurant once that didn’t even think about opening until 21:30. At least the Parador restaurant is on site, requiring no return walk, and opens at 20:30.

Our premium room proved to be more like a small suite with a separate sitting area. It was on the end of the hotel with three separate doors giving out onto a private balcony facing the westering late afternoon sun. It was just the place for a reviving drink or two to unwind before dinner.

Content.

No, not for us this time, this is for the dragonflies.

On 2nd March, having checked out the Vall d’Ebo and failed to find any surviving Common Darters (Sympetrum striolatum), we poked our noses into the Marjal de Pego-Oliva. Fairly quickly, Francine spotted a large dragonfly zoom away down the river. From her description, I had to assume the most likely suspect, a Vagrant Emperor (Anax ephippiger). Given favourable conditions, this species can turn up from Africa at almost any time. Indeed, several have been reported from the UK in February and I had spotted one down at the Parque Natural el Hondo recently. Try as we might, we couldn’t find our suspect in the marjal again.

However, on our return wander, another dragonfly, which we both saw this time, flew along the far side of the stream and into the bushes. I couldn’t track it and failed to find that one again, too. I’d had a reasonable look at it, though, and suspected a Clubtail (Gomphus). I know the marsh supports Western Clubtail (Gomphus pulchellus) and, it being Europe’s earliest Gomphid, that was the clearly the most likely suspect.

On 4th March, with Francine out with our Monday walking group, I returned to Pego-Oliva to try my luck again. As soon as I arrived, a large dragonfly zoomed down a dead-end arm of the river and flew away. It was not colourful and had to be a Vagrant Emperor again. I wandered, hung around the area we’d seen the Clubtail, wandered again, all without success. I was almost back at the car when I saw the familiar fluttering shiny wings of a teneral dragonfly settle in the bushes immediately to my left. It was intent on drying off and posed brilliantly. It was indeed a softly coloured, recently emerged Western Clubtail.

A park ranger cycled up to me and wondered what I was staring at in the bushes. “Una Libélule”, I explained, in perfect Spanish. He dragged himself and his bicycle closer and scared it away. Professionals, eh? No matter, I’d got my proof. I spotted a Booted Eagle (Hieraaetus pennatus) circling quite close and lower than my recent previous encounters. I managed to snag a half-way reasonable shot of that, too, albeit against a completely featureless sky.

Today, on 7th March, we both went back to the marsh at Pego-Oliva wondering if we might find a more matured specimen of our Clubtail. What I was never expecting to find, especially as it was a new species to me for this site, was a delightful male Copper Demoiselle (Calopteryx haemorrhoidalis). It was Francine who spotted it in the reed bed on the opposite side of the track to the river. It is, of course, tempting to keep eyes fixed on the water but sometimes it’s wise not to. That put the sun behind the subject so it wasn’t the best of photographic situations but it’s just about recognisable. The book has this species flight season starting in May, so it seemed very early, though the Malaga area in the far south does have records in March. This new find took the site’s species count to 17.

Returning to the water, I was almost as surprised to see what was obviously a Bluetail (Ischnura) fly into some waterside vegetation. My eyes lost it. we both searched and watched and eventually Francine found it, or another, again. She snapped, then I snapped. What we had is a female Common Bluetail (Ischnura elegans). This is the rufescens colour form. Technically, I think the Iberian Bluetail (Ischnura graellsii) would be possible at this location, this being an area of overlap for the two closely related species, but I’ve never managed to prove it.

So, counting the Vagrant Emperor which is most likely an immigration from Africa, four species in the first week of March. An good early start to the season in Spain, methinks.

[Pronounced “Sha-tee-va”, as near as damn it.]

In search of some entertainment on what was billed to be an essentially cloudy day, we decided to take a run up the road to a town called Xàtiva. It’s a 90km run north-west that would take almost 90 minutes. As we approached Gandia, where we would turn and head inland, our cloud had begun looking more like a sea mist – very odd looking weather conditions in this part of Spain. We arrived at about 11:30 and found a shopping area with plenty of parking space, then took to Shanks’s pony for the short walk into town itself.

Why was I here? Well, largely because Francine said so. Xàtiva has an old town but towering above it atop an imposing hill is an imposing castle, a Borja castle. That name may look more familiar in the English spelling of Borgia, as in Lucrezia Borgia. This and the old town were Francine’s main targets. Well, we had to do something so why not this?

I don’t quite get Spanish towns or, at least, much of the architecture. Most of the buildings look a bit slab-like; rather utilitarian. There was much destruction caused by Franco and the civil war but I doubt that would account for everything. Maybe it’s just the way Spain builds things. Xàtiva was no different but there is an old town area beneath the castle. The old town area seemed even weirder in that much of it seemed abandoned and in a state of disrepair, though there were still businesses – we found a small local bar/restaurant for a coffee.

The coffee came after Francine had been working her photographic impressionist skills on a sizable abandoned restaurant called the Borgias Época. It had clearly once been a handsome building. It sat on a small square with a couple of trees and benches which seemed to be a pleasant location offering some shade in the summer.  This building’s falling into disuse felt very sad. The trees against the red walls was what had attracted Francine’s attention.

Here’s a couple more examples of shabby chic in the old town that could cause raised eyebrows. Clearly, fish hadn’t been popular, which is unusual for Spain.

We made our way up to the castle. There is a tourist road train that would ferry you up and save you the climb up a twisting road with about half a dozen hairpin bends. We, of course, walked, after I declared that I wasn’t going to go up. Actually, I found that for those on foot most of the hairpin bends could be short cut by scrambling up tracks worn straight up the steep-sided hill. For those on foot? Yes, just to make one feel really self-righteous, having clambered up I was faced by free roadside parking at the top. Well done us! As pensionistas [old gits], our entrance fee was a mere 1.25€ each. Still, it is just a pile of old stones. Here’s a view of them.

Descending was much more enjoyable. We got back down to the old town and found a bar/restaurant open in the same square as the abandoned fish shop. There were customers outside, which was a good sign, and a chirpy barkeep inside. A chalk board advertised a 2-course menú del día. We could’ve had paella con habas [paella with beans] followed by calamar a la romana [deep fried squid], with a glass of wine and coffee for a princely 8€ each. How do they do it? I doubt this is why the businesses failed but it makes you think? One glass of wine would cost that [about £7] in the UK. Not wanting that much food at lunchtime, we opted for a couple of tapas instead – boquerones con aceitunas [anchovies with olives] and ensalada rusa [Russian salad]. It cost a little more than the menu but we did have two drinks each.

After being presented with a newspaper cutting suggesting that Giant Orchids (Himantoglossum robertianum) were now in bloom in the Valencia region, we thought we should try to find one, since hitherto we’ve seen only rosettes of leaves on our walks. Francine remembered seeing some in a previous year on a walk around the back of Lliber, a small village in the valley close to Jalón. We were decidedly unsure about the route but set off gamely nonetheless.

Lliber is a sod to drive through, the whole village sitting between a set of traffic lights which frequently get ignored by swarms of regulation-ignoring cyclists (i.e. most of them), but great to park in, especially when you know how to avoid the main street. We abandoned ship beside the vineyards and set off on foot.

Vague memories worked and we were soon on the correct walking route out of town. We made a couple more correct guesses following the route before a wrong one that had us back-tracking a short way to correct our minor mistake. I’ve never been a horticulturist but I’ve been put right off large gaudy cultivated blooms by the delightfully delicate, small wild flowers that I’ve seen following Francine’s botanical guidance. We came across several patches of tiny wild daffodils which can only be described as painfully cute. These little chaps are little more than 1cm across.

Things looked up on the orchid front as we stumbled across another handful of Dull Ophrys (Ophrys fusca). I still find that common name less than appropriate for such an attractive plant.

It was after we’d corrected our wrong turn that the path began looking more like our distant memories of the location for any potential Giant Orchid. As usual, Francine was scanning low down and eventually spotted a rosette of leaves with a flower spike showing, though still more of a bud with no flowers yet formed. As is often the case on the side of a Spanish mountain/hill, there were dry stone bancales forming steps/terracing. Just above where we were initially looking was a more advanced specimen. Lots of clicking ensued.

We included a phone snap to send to our friends that had given us the newspaper cutting that initiated our search.

We popped in to Calpe old town for Francine to have a play with her camera. Calpe old town is very hilly and there are several flights of steps. One of these and the most easily arrived at, has risers coloured like the Spanish national flag, orange and yellow. These steps are tricky to photograph, though, firstly because there is nearly always someone on them but also because the sun is frequently high and strong, causing contrast with strong shadows across the steps. As we arrived this time, there was an additional difficulty: The street crossing the base of the steps was being used as the court for what we believe was a game of Valencian Pilota.

Many of the walls in the old town sport colourful decoration in paint. We wandered as Francine paused at several of them to see what she could create. Arriving at the square beside the church, a stained glass window held her attention for some time. Being a Sunday, handfuls of worshippers were spilling out of the church but once they had cleared, the window came in for the multiple exposure treatment.

I sat down and started investigating what my new Olympus camera had in the way of multiple exposure capability. Well, it can do it but my, what a pain. You can’t just tell the camera that you want multiple shots in one frame and start clicking. Oh no, you have to go through the menu, select a base image that you’ve already taken and then tell it to overlay the next one you take. If you want more than two, repeat the process again. Agony! Neither are there any interesting blend modes. Canon – set a number of images then click, click, click – definitely has this facility sorted. I won’t be bothering.

Our meandering led us to another set of colourful steps. Here is a straight shot from my camera to try and convey the raw material. As a touristy snap, it really doesn’t look very promising. The background above the steps is positively ugly and the higher section has a blasted chromed handrail running down the centre.

I spotted the now familiar sideways movement of Francine’s camera as she stood at the bottom of the steps. She’d mounted the variable ND filter to slow the exposure down. Ya can’t just take one shot, of course, you have to blend a couple of shots to get some more interesting colours as Canon’s blending modes step in and mess with them. This is perhaps just about recognisable as steps once you’ve seen the start point.

There were more moving clicks but now with an additional wrinkle: a 90° rotation into portrait mode. Hmmm. Now what would result? One has to be prepared to try things and be disappointed, frequently muttering, “well, that didn’t work”, followed by hitting the delete button, even if you wait until you get back to home base. On this occasion, though, Francine seemed delighted with her experimental results.

I’m not surprised, it certainly looks more interesting than the documentary snap of the steps. It may not be suitable material for a travelogue, of course. 😉

A sunny Saturday seemed like a perfect day to escape Jalon’s rastro [flea market] by visiting the Parque Natural El Hondo just a spit south of Alicante. I was mainly thinking of seeing what birds might be around though, given our recent record-breaking Common Darter (Sympetrum striolatum) at L’Albarda, I would keep an eye open for any that might have held on at Hondo. Also in the back of my mind were Vagrant Emperors (Anax ephippiger), several of which have recently been reported on the western side of the UK in places such as Cornwall and Anglesey. As the name might imply, given the correct winds, it is a species that can turn up at almost any time of year from Africa.

Following some leisurely coffee, we began the 90-minute drive at 10:00 arriving at Hondo at 11:30 in time to see a bus load of older folks [Ed: older than you?] leaving. Setting off along the boardwalk, there was a unfamiliar looking duck on the far side of the lake. Fortunately, expecting more distant birds, I’d packed the older camera with the longer lens. Later, we found an information board that identified our friend in several languages, one being English. How considerate; one so often has to work only with the scientific name. This is a Northern Shoveler (Anas clypeata).

An altogether more elegant bird provided entertainment next. It took me a while to realize that we’d seen these long legged waders at the lagoon in Calpe in previous years though they seem absent this year. It’s a Black-winged Stilt/Common Stilt (Himantopus himantopus). I shy away from names including “common” so personally I stick to Black-winged Stilt. I spent some time trying to get a shot clear of most reeds and with a reasonable reflection.

By now most of the way along the boardwalk, Francine indicated a flight of Glossy Ibis (Plegadis falcinellus) approaching from behind me. With an older, more familiar camera in my hands, I managed to switch setting fast enough to catch them. We’d met these before at the Marjal de Pego-Oliva. Being black against a bright sky, they are not the easiest of subjects and then I’d failed abysmally. These are much better and show some detail but I have to say they don’t look particularly glossy.

Our final interest in the avian line was very nearly overlooked. I did overlook it, it was Francine who spotted something unusual. There were lots of Coots swimming about. Francine studied a relatively close individual and asked if I’d ever noticed any red above the white shield on a Coot’s head. Well, no, I hadn’t, so I snagged a couple of shots. Our new friend rejoices in the name of Red-knobbed Coot or Crested Coot (Fulica cristata) – naturally I prefer Red-knobbed Coot – and is resident across much of Africa, particularly southern Africa, and southern Spain. We were lucky as regards season because the red knobs are apparently present only in breeding season. At other times it is difficult to distinguish from our more familiar Eurasian Coot (Fulica atra) so we really would have overlooked it. You do have to wonder about some of the folks who coin common names.

We were at the end of the boardwalk watching a few Glossy Ibis foraging in the reeds. They never did move out to give a clear shot. As I turned back to begin wandering back a large dragonfly flew past about half a metre above the water. It had to be a Vagrant Emperor but I didn’t see one again. I did then see a smaller, red-coloured dragonfly flutter into the reeds at some distance and settle. I couldn’t get focus on it, though. Eventually it flew off to a grassy mound where I did mange to get an identification shot. It was a Common Darter, as expected. My latest latest, if you see what I mean.

Hawk-eyes Francine was looking down at some nearby reeds and I was surprised when she yelled “damselfly!”. What? Wrong time of year, surely, even in Spain. “What does a Winter Damselfly look like?”, she asked, peering through her lens. I’ve fallen into this trap before, not being present in the UK I forget about the only odonata species in Europe that hibernates over winter as an adult. Actually there are two closely related species but only one in Western Europe, the Common Winter Damselfly (Sympecma fusca). We saw, I think, four individuals including a pair ovipositing, all keeping low down in the more open reeds. Being brown they can be quite difficult to spot in such habitat. I have previously been told there is a colony at a site quite close to Alicante but they were new to me here. One local source has suggested that this may have been the first ever sighting of them at Hondo. If so, that would be quite exciting. What a pity Spanish recording is so poor.

Well spotted Francine.

We were looking for another somewhat gentle leg stretcher and chose the hilltop above Senija again. Hopefully this time I wouldn’t get another puncture. Having seen Swallowtails (Papilio machaon) there on our previous walk, I was wondering if my beloved Southern Scarce Swallowtail (Iphiclides podalirius) might be ready to put in an appearance. We were also keen to check on progress of an orchid patch where some large-booted Spanish workmen had been brushwood cutting.

Keeping the pace gentle to lessen the risk of any strains, we were soon up by our orchid patch. My eyes are like those of T. rex (according to Jurassic Park): attuned to movement. Francine’s eyes, on the other hand, seem to home in on colour variation. She spotted a tiny Woodcock Orchid (Ophrys scolopax) Sawfly Orchid (Ophrys tenthredinifera) that must have been only about 3cms tall. We both did our best to crouch and record it on pixels. Happy camper #1. I’d forgotten how small they can be. I’m the same after every winter with damselflies, forgetting just how small they are. This specimen, though seemed particularly short. Recognizing that the ground had been trampled recently, this was perhaps more likely due to a lack of water – it has been an unusually dry winter in Spain.

Continuing, Francine spotted a couple of further examples at a turn in the track. Further up again was a rosette of leaves of a Giant Orchid (Himantoglossum robertianum). This latter is listed in the threatened flora catalogue of the Valencian community but is reportedly doing well at the Sierra Bernia and Javéa areas. A cutting we’ve been given says it is now flowering – we should try to find some.

A little further and we had made it to the newly thinned scrub surrounding the cross atop the mountain. I immediately saw a couple of Swallowtails duelling in the sunshine. They are a delight to watch. In the UK, a Red Admiral (Vanessa atalanta) looks like a large butterfly but up here, in the company of Swallowtails, which it insisted on disturbing whenever they settled, it seemed dwarfed. Eventually a Swallowtail posed advantageously and I managed to snag it.

I was considering calling it a day when a Southern Scarce Swallowtail appeared and settled. Regrettably it had already lost one of its tails and didn’t look particularly fresh. I’m not sure whether this species may over-winter as an adult in this part of the world. I suppose it could have been the result of a near miss by a bird, though. I was very pleased to have seen one but a little upset about its condition. Turning to begin our descent I saw what I thought was the same individual zoom by when I realized it appeared to have a matched pair of tails. Better! That delayed my descent yet again as I patiently waited for a good opportunity. These characters are truly striking. Happy camper #2.

Francine had found a lone orchid at the summit on our earlier visit and it now looked as if it were going to seed. Good, that means it has successfully done its job. Finally, we made a contented descent.

Francine had knowledge of a couple of gardens in the near vicinity that she fancied visiting. She flipped a mental coin and it came up [or is that down?] L’Albarda Jardin Mediterráneo.

L’Albarda’s little leaflet says:

L’Albarda is a benchmark in the world of Mediterranean gardening. It has an area of 50,000 m² in which there are 700 species of indigenous plants and a large collection of roses. The L’Albarda garden belongs to Fundem, a foundation for the conservation of fauna and flora of the Mediterranean.

OK, so the middle of winter is not the most obvious time to go and visit a garden, there being little in flower. However, our 5€ a head entrance fee got us a warm welcome and a map in English.

The large house in the grounds is still private … and pink. Whilst you can’t go into the house, there is a café and, most importantly, toilets. You can walk around the veranda, though, and overlook the swimming pool. A Serin (Serinus serinus) was chattering away nineteen to the dozen in a nearby tree.

In common with many such gardens, the planting is subdivided and landscaped into a few different themes including, in this case, a Valencian garden, a formal garden and a “Maple Forest” containing a pond. We were initially a little confused not seeing any maples until the penny dropped, as had all the maple leaves, this being winter. Of course we couldn’t see any obvious maples. Duh!

The pond on the map had me a little excited but, alas, it looked deep, maybe to accommodate the waterfall, concrete and essentially sterile. There was a so-called Heron Pond which looked more promising, i.e. less sterile, but it was quite shaded and again I drew a blank. Many formal gardens have water features but sadly they are for the most part manicured and ornamental/sterile rather than habitats for wildlife. We did find steps leading off the map and surprisingly to an additional pond which looked like work-in-progress. It was also slightly less sterile with some marginal water plants. We stared. A dragonfly buzzed by and settled on the ground. Wow, my latest ever, beating my previous record by about three weeks. ‘T was a Common Darter (Sympetrum striolatum) as would be expected.

We followed a course around the map and managed to orientate a lost English lady who seemed to have no idea quite where she was, despite having a map. Our last port of call was the Valencian garden complete with a moderately interesting pergola affair that was covered in climbing roses, some of which still supported rather tired blooms. Tired or not, Francine set about a multiple exposure experiment. Well, it’s something to play with. 🙂

Nearby, on one edge of the Valencian garden, was a so-called English pond. Again, it was quite shaded and I didn’t expect another success. Being English, there was some backlit Pussy Willow which gave me a chance to play, this time with focus-stacking. I think I’m settling on some different customer settings for this Olympus camera. Going through about four levels of menu each time you decide to focus-stack is too time consuming.

L’Albarda was a refreshing diversion for a couple of hours and I’m sure it deserves a repeat visit in a season when more of the plants are actually in flower. Pleasant enough, though, especially with a record-breaking dragonfly.

On Monday we’d joined our walking group to ascend a mountain called El Cau, which overlooks the Jalón valley. It’s a long, more or less continuous climb going up about 525m. There are several false summits – you think you’ve got to the top only to see another peak that was hiding behind the one you just walked up – so it can be a bit frustrating for some. Incidentally, once you get to the true peak, you’re smack on the Greenwich meridian.

The descent begins quite steeply but is mostly down a narrow track lined with very scratchy bushes. Unfortunately one of Francine’s tendons around one knee seemed to take exception to the descent and began grumbling. So today we took it easy to aid recovery – a little stress-free light exercise to keep things moving but not do any further damage.

We chose to go to Altea for a wander on the flat. It was a good decision because it turned out to be 3°C warmer than Jalón and sunnier. It’s a bit too touristy in that most voices overheard are either English or Dutch but I did hear one or two Spanish. The promenade is flat with lots of bar/restaurants that were doing a brisk trade. The most interesting area for us, though is the mouth of the Algar river which runs through some reed beds as it spills out into the Mediterranean.

There were plenty of flowers on the rough ground beside the reed beds and I was taken with a flower with bi-coloured petals. Francine, of course, spotted a family resemblance and correctly placed it in the chrysanthemum family. I really should learn more about plants. It’s a so-called Crown Daisy (Chrysanthemum coronarium) and this bicolored job (with a slightly badly behaved petal) is known as discolor. At least I’ll remember that one, now.

That’s the flora interest, now onto the fauna. Francine spotted a large Moorhen-like bird disappearing around some reeds. We waited, discussing sizes relative to a Coot, and eventually it reappeared, not minding that we approached a little closer. It was purple-ish, with red legs and huge red feet and sported a red plate structure above its bill. I remembered seeing something very similar in Australia previously and names featuring “swamp” and “hen” sprang to the fore. Sure enough, this was a Purple Swamp-hen (Porphyrio porphyrio). It is a relative of our familiar Coot and Moorhen.

That’s it. Lazy day over.

A quickie, somewhat late to press.

We embarked on a trip down towards Torrevieja, about 150km south. Torrevieja has an “interesting” reputation, or so we believe, but the draw was two lakes, one of which is pink and the other of which is blue/green. Large quantities of salt are harvested at the pink lake, which is what causes the pink coloration. What we were hoping for was something like this picture, which was taken at what we thought was a similar salt lake at Gruissan in France last year. What we got was a tour around the lake in the car with no sign of any decent access point. Someone knows how to get to it ‘cos there are photographs but how to get to it eluded us.

There is easy access to the blue/green lake but we couldn’t see any wildlife, which would have given a reason to access it. We stuck our nose into a part of Torrevieja and pretty swiftly stuck it straight back out again. Our coastal trip was saved by a pleasant pause at a bar in Guardamar for an interesting tapa of scrambled eggs with morcilla [black pudding], pine nuts and a yoghurt dressing. Francine opted for an avocado and prawn salad.

The wildlife interest was saved by a sighting above a fuel station that we used for a comfort break as we approached Torrevieja. Three raptors were circling around above and behind the fuel station. They were a bit far away for anything a good shot but I managed one (with the old Canon 7D mk I and 100-400 lens) that was good enough to identify them as Booted Eagles (Hieraaetus pennatus). My old Collins Guide shows central Spain as a breeding ground but the coastal margin, as here, as a migration route back from over-wintering in Africa. So, maybe these were on their way back.